


my heart, my heart, my drowning heart

by writing_addict



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Again, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Angst, As One Does, BAMF Winry Rockbell, Con Artists, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Curse Breaking, Dancing Lessons, Dark Winry Rockbell, Edward Elric Swears, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Femme Fatale, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Inspired by "To Kill A Kingdom" by Alexandra Christo, It's Not Violence; It's Communication, Just slightly, Magic, Personality Swap, Pirate Winry Rockbell, Pirates, Siren Edward Elric, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, True Love's Kiss, Witch Curses, aka sirens, as in winry is totally one dont @ me, but here we are, ed being a damsel in distress because he's a dumbass, im supposed to be writing httyd au, not an au of it though, not evil ofc! just...ruthless and full of guilt and rage and self-loathing, think anastacia-style, what do you do when someone steals your shit? steal it back
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2020-10-25 13:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20724701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_addict/pseuds/writing_addict
Summary: The Pirate Queen has three years left to save her kingdom. Edward Elric is running out the clock until his brother goes mad. One needs the blood of a siren, the other the heart of a princess. It's hate, then pity, then guilt at first sight. They're not meant to be. They'll make it work.Even if it kills them.





	1. A Little Wicked

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [My Love Will Never Die](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1SvBXEqgu6k) by Claire Wyndham. Definitely sounds like a song a siren would sing, right?
> 
> Anyways! The gist of the story is simply this: Winry Rockbell set off a curse at age thirteen and has ten years to undo it, but to do so, she needs a siren. Between unleashing the curse and when the story takes place, she re-forged herself as the most fearsome pirate on the seas, eventually gaining the moniker of "The Pirate Queen". While most of her conscience and principles are intact, she considers her heart thoroughly crushed, and the weakness that caused the curse eradicated. Her crew is comprised of Team Mustang (because honestly, we don't get enough of them interacting with Winry in canon or fanon and also...pirates!) and a few notable others.  
Edward Elric is a siren--also cursed, also running out of time. The Witch that cursed Winry has his beloved brother, and if he can't steal the heart of a princess before his time runs out, well...things will be even worse than they are now. Sirens, of course, hunt and feed off of humans, but Ed only hunts small fisherboats and doesn't have much experience with humans. This backfires horribly, of course, when he gets too close to the Pirate Queen's vessel, the _Sovereign,_ and ends up captured. And there our story begins...
> 
> It'll be formatted as a collection of linear, connected one-shots, so it won't be as long as an actually book--probably about 10 chapters, with one thousand words-ish per chapter. Or more. Honestly, I'm just writing whatever's in my head and ignoring any concept of pacing or plot, so I truly apologize. I hope you enjoy it, though! Happy reading!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Queen catches a siren. Ed catches nothing but terrible luck.

Their latest catch is different, and Winry just can’t put her finger on why.

No, wait, she can—it’s because he’s _afraid._

Most of the sirens her crew drags aboard are seething, full of rage and hate. More than a few have killed themselves rather than let her take their life. All of them curse her as her sword plunges through their heart of hearts, blue blood spattering her boots and staining her otherwise pristine deck before they’re thrown back into the sea. She rarely feels bad about it; sirens are, after all, essentially _born_ to kill humans, the apex predators that rule the seas and bewitch sailors into becoming their next meals. How is it her fault if she’s found a way to survive? To strike back?

Maybe it’s a little vindictive of her. None of them probably know about the Sea Witch’s curse upon her kingdom, about the monster that took her parents’ lives and sent her careening down the path of an outlaw. The Witch is said to target her own kind as much as humanity, after all—but she can’t stop seeing the flash of cruel red-violet eyes in the ones she catches and kills, and can’t help hearing a sibilant voice purring, _the blood of a siren whose time matches yours...in return for the throne._

A throne to a kingdom that no longer exists.

_Her _throne.

She’d be a princess now if nothing had happened. Sweet smiles, silk gowns, guileless eyes, her hope and innocence intact. Clean hands.

Instead she’s as much a queen as the Witch that started all this—a Pirate Queen with a Court of Thieves. And she can’t say she hates it, either. She’s gotten good at being a captain, keeping her fellow outcasts and vagabonds in line, earning their respect and the fear of the world as a whole. It _feels_ good, too—freeing, wild, in a way nothing ever was before the curse. She hates to think that any good came of so much destruction, but this rebirth, this reinvention of herself (from princess to queen, from passive to _deadly_) …well, it’s her sole silver lining.

_But it shouldn’t be. Mother and Father wouldn’t be proud of this._

She squashes the thought, pressing her blade to the tip of the siren’s throat. He tries to cringe away rather than lunging for her, a thin, terrified whine pulling from his throat before he presses his lips together, golden eyes wide. “Hello, darling,” she drawls in greeting. “Can you answer a few questions for me?”

He flinches, glaring up at her from behind long, overgrown golden bangs. He’s very pretty, she has to admit, those scales of red and black shimmering wickedly in the midday sun—but _all_ sirens are beautiful. It’s really nothing special, not when she’s seen and killed so many, though she has to admit that the shredded left fin is intriguing. Not many sirens bear permanent scars.

His mouth opens warily, revealing needle-sharp fangs, and she hears the warning click of a finger on a trigger as Riza moves into view. She holds up a hand warningly, more for the siren’s sake than her quartermaster’s. “I think he knows better than to attack.”

Golden eyes blink at her, the catlike slits of his pupils seeming to narrow. “What…what do you seek?” The question is said in the manner of someone trying to be intimidating when they’re decidedly _not, _the common tongue strange and garbled as he tries to speak it. Unlike the others, who spoke as fluidly as any human.

_Maybe…maybe I can use him. Maybe this’ll work._

“Name and age,” she says. “That’s all.”

His claws leave tiny punctures in her deck as he hisses, the fins behind his ears pinned against his skull. She clicks her tongue in annoyance—those are going to be a pain to glamour; she seriously _just _got the wood repaired after their last skirmish with one royal navy or another (it’s hard to keep track of them after six years of chasing and being chased by every lawman’s vessel)—and arches an eyebrow. “Sometime this century would be great, you know.”

“Why should I obey _you?” _The words come out a little easier now, a little steadier as he tries to push himself back. Her navigator’s spear prods warningly against the powerful length of glimmering red scales, and he flinches violently, dorsal fin rising in his alarm. She watches, unmoved by the whimper that pulls from his mouth. He’s trembling now as the iron weapons of her crew surround him, his golden eyes the precise color of coins wide and full of terror—but still _delightfully _defiant. “M-murderer!” 

She doesn’t miss the way his voice shakes on the word, the way his eyes dart between her and the weapons. “Well, I’d say it’s because I have a sword to your throat, and unlike most of my catches, you seem to have enough self-preservation to care about that fact. As for being a murderer...well, I wouldn’t have become a pirate if a little blood bothered me, would I?”

Needle-fangs emerge in a wicked snarl. The fear’s still there, she notices with a flicker of delight, but now there’s even _more _defiance. She’s touched a nerve. “You’re the worst.”

“Comes with the job.” She presses the blade in a little deeper, a little tighter, watching beads of blue trail slowly down his neck. His eyes go round, staring up at her from behind those long bangs. “Two words, little siren. Name. Age. Then we decide what to do with you.”

_Then I’ll know if I get my home back--or if it’s already too late._

Those golden eyes search her face for mercy he won’t find, wide and frightened and burning bright, before he snarls something out in the language of the sea. No curse words--she knows all those (you tend to figure things like this out when you dedicate your life to nautical crime)--so she can only assume he’s complied. In the wrong language, of course, but still. Progress. “In commontongue, please.” 

She digs the blade in a little deeper when he sets his jaw, and he flinches. Another trickle of blue joins the first as he curls up, hunching his shoulders and fins drooping, before croaking, “Eh...Edward. Twen...twenty winters.” 

_Twenty winters._

Just like her. Except not like her, because he’s from a species of human-devouring fish-people and she’s a…well, she’s something. Pirate Queen, Lost Princess of the Risembool Wastes (though that’s considered more rumor than fact, something she’s _very _grateful for), cursed daughter, bane of the high seas. All of them at once, which leaves her as…a murderer, she supposes. A thief and a killer and a scoundrel--but one with a cause. A selfish cause, maybe, but she _has _one, which is more than she can say for most thieves of the sea. On the good days, that’s enough.

On the bad days…on the bad days, it’s not. But it’s nothing that a stiff drink and a little bloodshed can’t fix. 

_Spill the siren’s blood on the throne, and in it lay your crown. The Wastes will be restored. Your kingdom, reborn. Your people, saved._

_Fail, and forever be remembered as the princess who brought about the end of Risembool. Of her own people. Her own family. _

_You have ten years._

It had already been seven. This siren, though…if she can keep him alive long enough to steal back her crown, to return home to the Wastes, then she has a shot.

Then maybe she can see her parents one last time.

Three years left, and the key to everything she wants is in her grasp, and the Pirate Queen isn’t very keen on letting go. “Put him in the tank,” she says coldly, staring into wide golden eyes as she flicks the blood off her blade and sheathes it at her side. “And chart a course for East City.” Her crew obeys immediately, Riza snapping chains of iron on the siren’s wrists before throwing him over her shoulder, ignoring his ineffectual struggling. Winry follows her path belowdecks before turning on her heel and stalking toward the bow, the siren’s howl of terror fading in her ears.

Yes, they’re different, but not just in species. Sirens sing and kill to eat their natural prey. She kills for no other reason than to remove the obstacles in her path. She can’t let herself remember mercy, or she’ll lose _everything._

_For what it’s worth, I wish this wasn’t happening…but it’s the only way._

“Progress?” Roy murmurs, falling into step beside her as her gaze sweeps over the open sea. She can feel his dark eyes fixed on her back, the guard who once served her family turned to her loyal first mate, the one who began this crusade with her so long ago as both older brother and sole confidante. He’s the one part of her past she’s allowed herself to keep until she can lay down her sword. He sounds…hopeful. And worried. But it’s the hope she notices more, because she can feel it beating in her chest, too, new and strange after so many years of _nothing_. 

“Progress,” Winry echoes, and smiles. “Now all we need’s a crown.”


	2. Love Bites (So Do I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed isn't doing so well in captivity. Winry makes a decision that changes the course of both their fates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to update this weekly, but that might not last. I hope you enjoy it regardless! Title comes from the same song by Halestorm.

Guilt absolutely _sucks, _Winry decides, as both an emotion and a concept. Not only does it keep her from getting things done, it’s making her feel bad for a siren. A _siren. _A killer from an entire species of killers, who views humans as _food. _The same species that cursed her home in the first place, and yet here she is, eyeing the siren as he curls up tight on the bottom of his tank and pins his fins back, trembling visibly.

She doesn’t like him, of course. Pities him, yes, but she doesn’t know anything about him and since she has to, you know, _kill him, _she prefers not to. But he’s still a (temporarily, but aren’t they all) living creature, and he’s _upset, _and according to the crew, he’s been crying. _Actually _crying. Not the crocodile tears some sirens try to shed when captured, not a ploy to get his watchers to fall in love with him and set him free, but genuine tears.

Of course, that could be a ploy in itself, but the iron grate on top of the tank keeps any magic from affecting her people as well as trapping him in what’s essentially a giant fishbowl. It had taken the right mix of magic, ingenuity, and illegal transactions to create, but within her first year on the seas, she’d had it built: a cage that could hold the ocean’s deadliest creatures. 

_Just get the crown, _she scolds herself, leaning against the door as the siren’s whimpers reach through the glass. _Get the crown, get your throne, and kill him. Don’t start getting sympathetic now. _“Are you quite done?”

The siren’s whole body tenses, shivers still wracking it. He glares from beneath his bangs with blue-rimmed eyes, claws curling uselessly on smooth glass. _“What the fuck do you want?” _he snarls, one scale-speckled hand swiping across his face. His voice echoes strangely through the glass, the magic leeched out of it by the iron grate, but it doesn’t fall flat. It’s still rich and warm and eerily beautiful, even though he’s only speaking. He’s the kind that doesn’t need to sing to take everything from his prey. _All the more reason you shouldn’t feel bad, _she chastises herself. _“Why are you even _here_, slaver?” _

She blinks, before snorting in amusement. _Of course. If you’re not a killer, you’re a slaver or an honest man, and I’ve made it clear I’m not the latter. _Not that she’s the former, either--hell, half the time she _hunts_ slave ships, spends a good amount of her time forging herself into their worst nightmare. She’s a thief and a killer, sure, but she hasn’t abandoned _all _her principles. Just the ones that let the Sea Witch trick her in the first place. Just _mercy, _really. “Don’t worry, siren. I’m not selling you.”

_“You put me in an iron cage.” _His voice is dull as he pulls himself into a coiled position, red fins flaring. _“You send your people down to make sure I don’t escape. You refused to kill me.” _Golden eyes glare, and were she any less experienced with hatred, she might flinch--but she knows hate intimately, feeds off of it and love in equal measure, and so she meets his stare with a lazy smile. _“What else could you possibly want me alive for?”_

“I don’t want you alive, per se. Just…to die at the right time.” She drums her fingers lightly on the doorframe, before raising her eyebrows. “Never seen a siren cry, though.”

“_Well, thanks for being such a sympathetic audience.”_

A laugh is startled out of her, unusually sharp and unusually bright. She’s as surprised by it as he seems to be, golden eyes flicking over at her curiously before snapping back to grief and hate and anger--not so much at the act, but at how real it sounds. It’s nothing like the rippling, vicious laughter she puts on for rich sons of bitches outsmarted by a girl a third of their age, the ones who can’t believe she’s a thief, a liar, a monster. Neither is it like the howling, bitter cackles her crew usually draws out of her, coated in blood and steel and exhaustion as much as righteous fury. 

It’s new, and it sounds _real, _and that—that’s _interesting. _

_He’s _interesting. And soon-to-be-dead cog in her plan or not, she’s never been good at ignoring the strange and the terrible…and it seems that this siren is a mixture of _both. _Her curiosity rears its ugly head, and before she can stop herself, she says, “I’ll make you a deal, little siren.” 

She spies a flicker of interest in his eyes before they go flat and dull again, claws curling uselessly into the glass as he whisks his head away with a snarl, crossing his arms. _“I don’t want anything from you, murderer.”_

_Murderer. That’s rich, coming from you. _She swallows the words, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully at him. She should just leave it at that, she knows--she might have squashed her heart, but the twisted remains of a conscience still whisper in her mind, and if she goes through with this, she knows she’ll get attached. Maybe not enough to go through with what she’s about to offer, but it’s a risk she shouldn’t take. It’s a risk she doesn’t need, not when she’s _so close._

But he made her _laugh_, and he’s afraid of her in a way his kind never are, and full of life and emotion in a way so few creatures _ever _are, and she wants to know _how. _She wants to know _why, _and how he allowed himself to be caught, why he answered her question instead of killing himself or attacking like the rest—why, she realizes with a jolt, she doesn’t quite hate him. She doesn’t like him, she isn’t _fond_ of him, but there’s no _hatred _in her chest when she looks at him, and she knows damn well what hatred feels like. This…mournful, tired sensation isn’t it.

She hates sirens for what they stole from her—but not this one. Instead all she feels is that _goddamn guilt, _and it’s driving her up the fucking _wall._

“It’s going to take a while for me to get the crown and sail to the Wastes,” she says, and ignores the low growl of annoyance that ripples from his throat. “I’ll come down every evening to ensure you’re alive and listen to whatever you want to say. You have until we reach the Wastes to convince me that I should risk everything—and I really do mean _everything—_by letting you live.”

_“Why should I play your game, thief?” _he snaps, turning to glare through the glass at her, the fury in those golden eyes palpable. They’re bright as coins, cold as steel, but she can see the slightest flicker of surprise lacing catlike eyes, the tiniest wisp of hope glimmering on his face. 

Maybe this bargain won’t work out in his favor. Maybe whatever sob story he tells won’t sway her. She hopes that’s the outcome.

But…she has a sneaking suspicion that she may have just made the worst decision of her life. “Because if you don’t, you die regardless, and I think any siren who risks swimming that close to a ship without trying to feed has a story to tell.” She leans against the doorframe. “And I’m _always _one for a good story.” 

The siren bares his teeth, but she can see the defeat in his posture as red fins droop and he lowers his gaze. _“And if I convince you, you release me?”_

“Alive and mostly unharmed,” she agrees. 

_“Mostly,” _he mutters dryly, before shaking his head with a low growl. “Fine. _We have a bargain.”_

“We have a bargain,” Winry repeats, and sweeps him a mocking bow. His snarl ripples over the room, and she laughs as she straights and saunters toward the door, low and long--not the laugh from before, but another mask. Another lie. “See you tomorrow, little siren.”

_“See you tomorrow, murderer.”_

She’s just made the second-worst decision of her life--but for some reason, those trembling remains of a heart seem to flicker in her chest. She falters on the steps back to the deck, before shaking her head determinedly and squashing the feeling.

The Pirate Queen doesn’t need a heart, and Winry Rockbell can’t afford to keep one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the setup for the accidental romance begins! Where will I go from here? Nobody knows! I hope you guys liked this chapter, though; writing Ed's bits of snark was loads of fun and Winry's "I-don't-give-a-shit-_but-I-am-l y i n g_" was even _ more_ fun. Enemies to grudging allies to friends to lovers is the real name of this trope. 
> 
> Leave a comment or a kudos if you enjoyed it, and I'll see you next time!


	3. Play With Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Increasingly desperate for freedom, Ed spills all. Winry vows not to feel pity, and instead feels something else, something far more dangerous: _kinship_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An alternate title for this chapter: "Local Siren Captive Tells All! 'How The Queen Caught Me!'" The actual title is from [this cover by Ag and Valerie Broussard](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pr1JKGbYrIA). This chapter's a little clunky, but ultimately I'm quite pleased with it. And with the Edwin banter. Hope you enjoy it!

True to her word, she comes by every evening, regardless of her other duties on board. It’s stupid, really, but she hates breaking promises, even to murderous beasts who feed on human flesh. Sometimes he talks to her, sometimes he just glares (and she glares right back, even if letting her goad him into something like this is _ridiculous), _but they’ve been cobbling together some kind of…well, _friendship_ is the worst possible word, but it’s starting to feel like a kind of camaraderie. They _loathe_ each other, fight and snarl and snark, but they’re linked by this strange bargain and neither of them plans to back down. 

It’s dangerous. She _knows_ it’s dangerous, even though her crew seems to think she doesn’t. They remind her over and over that she needs this siren, that their chances of finding another one in time are slim, that if this goes south, she’s _screwed. _There’s no risk of a mutiny, not from them—they’ve been through too much together, fought hard enough that they’ve become a _family_ as much as they are a _team_—but she can tell they’re worried for her, about what will happen to her if she fails, if the curse stays unbroken. She’d be lying if she said she doesn’t feel the same, but her curiosity is growing and her common sense fading.

A deadly dance, she muses, leaning against the wall across from the siren, but one she’s almost _enjoying_. He’s gone from calling her _murderer _to _hunter _to _Majesty, _ribbing at the moniker she picked up several years ago, and he’s gone from _siren _to _jewel _to _red, _for the color of his shimmering tail. Neither of them uses the other’s name, not yet. It’s a line they refuse to cross, one that means…well, she doesn’t know what it means, but whatever it is, they’re dancing around it like their lives depend on it. She doesn’t plan to break step until he does.

_“Majesty.”_

She glances up as he arches his eyebrows, golden eyes glimmering sharply as he presses against the glass. He seems…tired, though she suspects a good amount of that is from being trapped in a tank. She feels a pang of guilt at the thought, before giving herself a brisk shake, the flicker of sorrow dissipating. This is the most effective way of keeping him contained, and besides, it was built long before she ever started forming a _bond _with the creature she had to _kill. _Until he convinces her or she decides to break her curse, he remains _in_ the tank, where he can’t sing them all to their deaths. “Red,” she drawls, tilting her head toward him. “What grievances?”

He chuckles, to her surprise, though there’s no mirth in it. _“Not so much grievances as a tragic life story that’ll no doubt blow yours out of the water.” _

She raises her eyebrows in surprise at that. It’s been two weeks since they struck their strange deal, with another week before they can dock in East City. The _Sovereign _might be the fastest vessel on the seas, but even she can’t bend time and space to get them where they need to go faster. It drives her mad half the time, but she’s always been a patient one. She knows how to while away the hours of waiting until there’s nothing left but action.

This…this is something she’s been waiting for, but it’s _unexpected. _This isn’t like reaching a planned destination, isn’t like seeing a ship from some royal navy or privateer sailing up, isn’t like plunging into battle and coming out victorious. _This, _this sudden _honesty, _she didn’t see coming, and it’s unnerving to say the least. Neither of them has said a word about their pasts beyond the legends surrounding the “Pirate Queen” and the tales any seaman knows of the creatures of the depths. “What brought this on?” 

_“You said you were always one for a good story. I figured maybe it was worth telling mine—unless you’re a _liar_, Majesty.”_

He’s playing an angle. She knows he is. Maybe he thinks honesty will win him this game, or his tragic past will earn her sympathy. She’s certain she has him beat on the latter, and, well…she’s a pirate. The truth is what she makes it to whoever she makes it _for_. 

The only problem is this: he’s got her hooked. She _wants_ to know more, even if knowing means losing. He might be the one in the cage, but he’s got her trapped as surely as she does him. She curses herself, not for the first time, for falling for all of this _bullshit, _for making this _stupid _bargain.

_Curiosity killed the cat, _the saying goes. In her case, it killed hundreds of thousands of people—_her people—_and she still can’t resist it, sure as a siren’s song.

_No matter what you do, you’ll never be free, _the Sea Witch’s voice purrs, and her lip twitches into a snarl. “I’m all ears,” she grits out, nails digging into her palms around the hilt of her sword even as she pastes on a mischievous smile.

_“You humans do have spectacularly hideous ears,” _he mutters, and she barks a laugh despite the nausea swirling in her gut. Golden eyes flick up toward hers, sharp and wary. _“You said you wanted to know why I was so close to the ship, didn’t you?”_

“I assume you were hunting,” she replies, even though she’s at least eighty-five percent sure that’s not the case. Sirens usually sing their prey in from a distance before snagging them with feelers and fangs and tails, but this one _sought them out, _swimming wary circles around the ship—_looking _at her, at all of them. Looking _for _something.

_“I was. Sort of.” _Translucent red claws draw circles on the glass, stirring the warm seawater within, his gaze distant and…_tired. “…I thought your ship was a royal one.”_

Winry blinks down at him, her eyes widening—before throwing back her head and _cackling. “Royal?” Well, you’re wrong about the ship, at least. _“I mean, I know they _call _me the Pirate Queen, but this vessel is a little less law-abiding than _that_.” She can’t help the scorn that slips into her voice. The royals that take to the seas dripping wealth and reveling in their illusions of power are nothing like her parents—nothing like how a leader, a _queen_, should be. She enjoys taking them for all they’re worth, giving the wealth of the shallow and sick to those who _actually _need it—and keeping a fair cut for herself. She’s a pirate, after all. “Seriously, you couldn’t have picked a worse ship to case if you _tried_, Red.”

He bares his teeth at her, fins flaring like red silk. His scarred fin ripples like strange, tattered streamers when he moves it, practically shredded by something with claws or fangs far bigger than his own. _“Well, I know that _now,” he hisses, and gestures to the cage. _“But it’s not like I knew much about humans. My brother and I mostly went after small fishing vessels, not anything on this scale.” _

_Brother. _So he does have a family out there somewhere. She ignores the steadily-growing hollow in her chest, the increasing flickers of guilt starting to curl around her throat. Her captive siren is still a monster, but no more of one than she is. “Then, why go looking for a royal vessel—_alone?” _

He curls his tail around himself, mutilated fin twitching slightly, glaring out at her. “_To save him, you moron. You probably don’t know that’s _like, _risking yourself to save someone, but—”_

Guilt quickly rises to fury and a rush of truly _blinding frustration. _“I know more than you _think,” _she hisses, and her nails break the skin, red crescents forming as scarlet stained steel. _It’s all I’ve been doing for _years—for her family. Her people. Her _crew, _ruthless and wild and downright insane though they might be. Dozens of the scars on her back, her arms, her chest, they’re from protecting what’s _hers. _

_Because a Queen protects her own._

When her eyes find him again, he’s staring at her, and something in his gaze is…softer. There’s a strange light in his gaze, and his head is cocked to the side—_curious. _Seems like she’s not the only one who suffers an inability to mind their own business. “You were hunting royals alone,” she says gruffly, dropping her gaze again. “For your brother.”

He clears his throat, and she can see his gaze dart away in her peripheral. _“Not just royals. Princesses.”_

Her eyebrows flick up at that. “Oddly specific. He looking for a bride or something?”

There’s a low, savage growl, and when she looks up at him, his pupils are miniscule slits, needle-fangs bared, claws digging into his scales as blue blood begins to seep into the water of the tank. _“Don’t you _dare _talk about my brother like that.” _

_And he’s super protective of this brother. Huh. _It almost feels…familiar, somehow. “Sorry,” she says, and she is. “Why do you need a princess?”

He relaxes minutely, claws retracting, though his pupils don’t dilate. _“To save him,” _he whispers, shoulders slumping. _“It’s…it’s the only way.”_

“Save him?”

He nods, his gaze faraway, distant and tired. _“There’s a—a curse. My mother died when my fin got shredded. I blamed myself. I talked my brother into going to the Sea Witch, to try and get her back—to ease my guilty conscience, I guess.” _He barrels right along, seeming not to notice her as she stiffens, blood turning to ice in her veins at the Witch’s name. _“She laughed. Told us that magic can bring back the body or the soul, but never both, not without a sacrifice. She said she needed Al, and I told her there was no way in hell.” _He squeezes his eyes shut. _“I—I didn’t know there was a price for _asking_ for her aid, either. She…she took my brother’s voice. Put him in a bubble, held him in her cave like an _ornament, _a _trophy.” A claw sweeps roughly across his eyes, and he looks up at her, eyes blue-rimmed and burning with desperation. _“Without our voices, our magic, we go mad. Every minute my brother spends in that bubble, silent, he gets a little bit closer to becoming one of the monsters you think we are—wild. Careless. Insatiable. If I don’t bring her the heart of a princess—”_

“He goes insane,” she murmurs, staring into nothing, into everything, past and present and future, the world blurring around her. “And you lose everything at the hands of the Sea Witch.”

He chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. _“That’s about it.”_ His eyes flick up to hers, and when he speaks again, he sounds…confused. _“Majesty, are you…crying?”_

No. Of course she’s not, that’s—that’s ludicrous. She hasn’t cried since the first time she took a life. Why the hell would she be crying now?

Except, when she touches her face, there’s tears trailing down it. When she breathes, a sob catches at her chest. And when she tries to move, she finds herself sinking to the ground, drawing her bloody hand away from her sword and to her chest. She presses it over her heart, white shirt stained red, and chokes on a hysterical laugh. “So it seems.”

_So it seems._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The little comic at the end was drawn by the wonderful FloatingOnAFeeling, who pretty much kicked my ass into high gear on writing this with their enthusiasm! If you're reading this, love, I owe you the whole world. Mwah!~
> 
> I hope you guys liked this chapter! Leave a comment or a kudos if you did, and I'll see you soon <3 Ciao for now!


	4. Ain't No Rest For The Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A proverbial wrench is thrown in Winry's plans when she finds out the man she trusted with her crown has sold it off--and to one of her worst enemies at that. Luckily, she's got a first mate who can keep his cool long enough to remind her of the truth: the Pirate Queen _always_ wins in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Ain't No Rest For The Wicked](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wBgp5aDH23g) by Cage The Elephant
> 
> It's positively criminal that we didn't get more interactions between Mustang and Winry in canon, so I'm filling that void with Roy being like an older-brother/idiot cousin figure. Think Zack and Ivy from the new Carmen Sandiego, or Ruffnut and Tuffnut from HTTYD! Roy was Winry's Head Guard in Risembool; the reason he didn't vanish with the rest is because he was with Madame Christmas at the time--who you'll meet next chapter. Enjoy!

“Of all the entitled, scummy, backstabbing, motherfucking _asinine _things that _bastard _could do—”

“Captain, take a breath.” Her first mate falls in step beside her, his dark eyes darting toward her as she storms down a cobblestone street, black coat flaring behind her as they weave in and out of the masses. Roy Mustang follows her with ease, the two of them looking like nothing more than a pair of unfortunate siblings trying to get out of the rain as East City bustles around them. Or they did going in, at least. Now, it’s getting harder and harder to keep a low profile, fury bubbling up in her chest as she stalks toward the docks, seconds from storming back into that lying _shithead’s _house and slitting his throat for his betrayal. “He said he sold the crown to the Lady a few months ago. That’s not enough time for it to travel far, right?”

No. Yes. She doesn’t know. Fucking _bastard _told her the crown—_my fucking crown, my MOTHER’S crown—_would be safe, that she could come and retrieve it whenever she liked. _This is what I do, _he said, giving her a gleaming, brilliant smile. _You can trust me, Your Highness._

_It’s Captain, _she’d said—sixteen and stupid and puffed-up on delusions of grandeur, of _success. _The _Sovereign _had just been outfitted with a crew that would become her family and weapons that would be as dear to her as friends. She and her first mate had gone to one of a handful of establishments that knowingly catered to her kind—the criminal underbelly of their bright and shining world, where magic wasn’t a miracle but a tool, and everyone had an agenda. _And I don’t trust anyone, Mr. Archer._

Except she had. She’d trusted him to keep the crown safe. To keep it, not _sell it off _and then cite interest contracts that she’d never signed as his reason for breaking _their _contract. She’d gone back, expecting him to have it waiting for her as promised—and instead, she’s walking away with nothing. Just like before. Just like _every other fucking time_.

When will it be enough? When will she finally learn her goddamn lesson? _If they’re not with you, they’re against you—and trust no one to guard your back as well as you can._

“Winry!” She lets out a snarl as Roy sets his hands on her shoulders and whirls her to face him, giving her a light shake. His dark eyes search her face, worried. “I know you want to kill that son of a bitch—and you’re right, he deserves it, and I’m sure you’ll rip him apart soon enough—but you have to be _smart _now. Come on. The Lady of Lagneia has the crown, sure. But she thinks you don’t know, right? That you’re not coming for it.”

He’s right. She _knows_ he’s right. The frustration—and _fear, _she acknowledges, the fear that she’s lost the crown forever, that the curse will forever be unbroken, that the ten years will tick by and her kingdom will be just another cautionary tale about the Sea Witch’s wrath—starts to abate, and she exhales, the cold of the rain beginning to seep through white-hot rage. “The Lady’s clever,” she mutters, and his hands leave her shoulders, lips curving into a warm grin as the edges of a plan begin to take shape, etching themselves into existence. “But she’s vain. If our records on her are right, then she’s gonna want the Crown of the Princess of the Wastes on full display…and she’s going to want _everyone _to know she has it.”

Roy blinks, before his eyes glint with a mischievous light. “Gala Scheme?”

_Inhale. Exhale. _She can still do this. She can still _fix everything—_

_And doom someone just like you in the process,_ those fragments of a heart whisper. She pushes them down, letting the anger, the grief, the fear and hope rushing out of her and into the downpour roaring down on East City. Letting the ethical musings of a long-dead princess dissolve into the water running down her face in rivulets. “Those courtiers do love their fancy parties.”

Roy snorts, following her as she heads for the docks, the false Amestrian navy flag flying high over the _Sovereign._ “You do know we’re gonna need a fresh face, don’t you? I mean, _your_ face is plastered across every town hall, tavern, and square your enemies can reach, and while the people know you’re not after them, whatever party she’s throwing is going to be packed with people who want you roasted on a spit.”

She slows a bit. It’s true—the likelihood of her having robbed every single invitee is already ridiculously high, and even if she hasn’t targeted all of them at some point or another, they’re going to want to make sure she’s not next. Knowing the Lady, it’s going to be some kind of masquerade (she _does _love her romance-novel settings, she muses, and grins viciously at the thought of the last trick she played on the brilliant but selfish Lady) or costume gala, perfect for showing off, but even then, it’s best to send someone…_new_ with her, to throw them off their game. Someone they won’t see coming.

_Someone like a siren with a grudge against the Sea Witch. Someone in a perfect position to make a bargain with a forgotten princess._

“I think,” she says, and grins like a wolf, “that I know _just _the person.”

“Already? Who—” She glances over her shoulder with a faint smirk as his eyes widen and he hurries after her. “Oh, no. You can’t be serious.”

“She’ll never see it coming.”

“No one will see it coming because it’s a _terrible _idea!”

“You’ve been saying that for years. Always works out in the end, though, doesn’t it?”

“Winry Rockbell, I swear on all the gods—”

“I’m totally doing it,” she sings, practically skipping at this point, simply because she knows it’ll annoy him. Judging from his irritated huff, she’s right. “Come on! I’ll tell him we’re going to let him go if he does this for us, and then I won’t. Classic double-cross!” Or maybe she won’t. They’ve been getting closer and closer to becoming something like _friends, _and while she can’t exactly afford to become friends with her prey, she doesn’t want to lie to him more than she absolutely has to. One of the first rules of etiquette is, after all, not to play with your food.

“You’re putting the two things you need most in the same place—one that is _literally filled with your enemies, _might I add—without any certainty that they’ll both last the night!

She turns back toward him, and sees…genuine worry. Genuine sorrow. Her grin softens, the urge to sing her devious, wicked plan to the gods fading as she gives him a punch on the arm. “Trust me, Mustang?” There’s a joking edge to her words, but she’s utterly serious. He’s been with her since the beginning, since before _any _of this. If he really thinks it’s a bad idea, she’ll find another plan.

The former Captain of the Guard shakes out his shoulder, scowling at her, before raising his eyes to the heavens dramatically—his patented “Gods Give Me Patience” look. She can’t help laughing at the sight of it as he raises his eyebrows at her, before shaking his head and sighing. “I always do, Your Highness.”

And, she thinks, giving her older brother—or the closest she’s got to one—a faint smile, he always has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Heists are soon to happen, but first: lots of Winry and Ed bonding and pretending not to have feelings! Ugh, it's the little things, isn't it? Something about mutual pining that both parties refuse to acknowledge gets me every time. Leave a comment or a kudos if you liked it, and thanks for reading!


	5. All The Good Girls Go To Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Infiltrating a masquerade ball isn't as easy as putting on a mask--not when your dance partner is, a. a siren, b. not very fond of you, and c. seems to be missing a leg in human form. Luckily, Winry knows exactly where to go to fix all these issues. Except for the "not-very-fond" thing, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [All The Good Girls Go To Hell](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fUpw7yBWq8w) cover by Halocene. This one gives me strong pirate!winry vibes ;) Let me know if you think of any other songs that you think would work for the characters of this AU! Enjoy the chapter!

“That’s going to be a problem.”

The siren beside her scowls, golden eyes narrowing as he blows his bangs out of his face with a huff. Winry glances at him and mouths, _Told you so, _before meeting Madame Christmas’s eyes. “That’s why we came here. Is the forge still functional?”

The woman snorts, gray eyes glinting. “’Course it is. No one’s touched your work since…two years ago, I believe.”

She winces at that, feels that aureate gaze go wide with surprise when she hunches her shoulders and avoids the madame’s sharp look. No matter how old she gets or how many lives she takes, something about Chris Mustang manages to reduce her to a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. _Don’t get used to it, _she wants to snap to the siren, but instead she mutters, “I’ve been…busy.”

“I can see that. This siren part of your crew, or your sacrifice?”

He stiffens at the words, lips pulling back in a snarl to reveal a distinct lack of those needle-fangs she’s used to. She shoots him a warning look and raises her eyes to Chris’s. “Temporary asset. We have a new bargain.”

One dark eyebrow quirks up. “Oh?”

If it was anyone else, Winry wouldn’t even _think_ of telling them—but Chris Mustang? She’s been in her family’s employ since before she was born, used her bar as a safe house for generations of Rockbells, going all the way back to the beginning. No one quite knows how old she is, or _what_ she is beneath that human mask, but she’s _always_ been there for her. She’s the reason her guard, her brother in all but blood didn’t die with the rest, and for that, Winry’s forever in her debt.

“The Witch cursed him, too,” she says, ignoring Ed’s puzzled, _“too?”_. She didn’t tell him the details when she made her second bargain. She supposes she’ll have to, later, if this is going to work, but…well, hiding the truth isn’t a habit that’s easy to break after seven years. “I offered him my aid in breaking it.”

“For his aid in getting your crown, I presume,” she mutters. Winry shifts awkwardly, fingers brushing the hilt of her sword like a child seeking comfort from a favorite doll. “Which the Lady of Lagneia’s got her grubby little mitts on. I’m guessing you’ll need two invites to the Midsummer Ball.”

Her tone is still exasperated, still wary, but there’s an edge of amusement to it now that makes the coiled tension in her chest unwind. _She’s going to help us. _Not that she’d turn Winry away, as the sole member of the Rockbell line still breathing (or Roy, of course, as her own nephew—or as close to a nephew as an immortal magical being of ambiguous species and ability could have), but there’s certain lines she doesn’t want to risk crossing. Her crew will be safe in her bar while they train the siren and work out the kinks of the plan, untouchable by military or self-righteous fools, and with the forge still operational, the latest roadblock will become little more than a minor setback. “Yes, ma’am.”

“How many times have I told you to call me Chris?” she scolds gruffly.

Winry can’t help the sheepish smile that steals across her face. She can see the siren staring at her, dumbfounded, and hears Riza’s soft snort behind her. “Too many, ma’am.”

Chris sighs exasperatedly, opening the door to the main dining area and stalking out. “_Rockbells,” _she hears her mutter with unmistakable fondness. “Roy-Boy, get out here before your sisters come kidnap you.”

Roy pales. Winry can’t blame him, though she can certainly snicker at his misfortune. His “sisters” are wonderful women, but they’re prone to fussing, especially over their “little brother”. She got the brunt of it back when she was a princess in more than name alone, but it’s quickly cycled back to her guard being their main target. “Better hurry, _Roy-Boy.”_

“Shut it, Highness,” he mutters, flicking her feathered hat off her head as he slinks out the door like a scolded child. She catches it and scowls at his back, before glancing at Riza. _Go with him? _she pleads silently. If there’s anyone who can fend off the relentless affections of Madame Christmas’s girls, it’s Riza Hawkeye—if only because they’ll become consumed by plots to get the two of them together formally. Which Winry might have more of an interest in than she lets on, if only because her first mate’s crush on Riza is so painfully obvious and sappy.

Her quartermaster gives her a look that says she knows _exactly _what she’s trying to do, but she nods and heads out after him anyway. Winry turns to the rest of her crew, clapping her hands together. “Alright, we’re gonna lay low here until the gala. Disperse, rest, do whatever Madame Christmas asks of you, and please, for the love of all that is good and holy, _don’t make her mad_.”

“No promises,” Havoc quips.

She fixes him in a sharp _look, _and he shrugs, grinning lazily at her. “And make sure _he _doesn’t try anything _stupid,” _she adds, jerking her thumb at the siren. He whirls to her with a snarl, before wobbling and listing painfully to the side, crutch clattering to the ground. She catches at his arm before he can topple over, giving him a sharp look. “Don’t do anything stupid until I get your leg done.”

“_You’re_ the one who needs _me _for this job, Majesty,” he hisses, drawing himself up to glare at her. “You asked _me _for help, and you _promised—”_

“That I’d get you a princess to kill, I _know.” _In hindsight, perhaps Roy was right—the siren is a variable she can’t quite control, even with the promise of help breaking his curse dangling over his head. Her curse called for the blood of a siren her age, and—well, she presumed it meant _life, _but if she can use a vial of that blue blood as an insurance policy, she will.

She definitely isn’t growing attached (and fond is still a stretch). And she definitely, definitely isn’t looking for any way out of this that’ll let her keep him alive.

He was more skeptical of the new deal she offered than she was making it, though, so there’s _that_. He accepted in the end, which—you know, means she has the new face she needs to pull this off, and he has a better chance at saving his little brother than ever. But unfortunately, that shredded fin translated to a missing leg when he reluctantly shifted to a humanoid form, and now…now she’s got to make him a new one. At least she won’t have to teach him to walk twice.

“I promised I’d help you,” she repeats coldly. “But this is my crew. You want to hold up your end of the bargain, then you follow my orders to the letter. Don’t be an idiot.”

He draws himself up and bares his teeth at her again. She sighs and grabs his crutch off the ground, thrusting it at him before heading to the back door. “Just don’t get yourself killed,” she mutters, stepping outside to the lot in the back. Some of the weight on her chest eases as she sees the familiar building at the back of it, magic tingling at her fingertips as she shrugs her coat off and ties it around her waist before stepping inside.

The forge lights up in her presence, recognizing its mistress, and she allows the edge of a nostalgic smile to cross her lips, gloved fingers hovering over glowing coals. _Rockbell women are born of fire and made of iron, _her grandmother had once told her. She rules the ocean now, but her roots will always come back here, to the forge where the first Queen of Risembool shaped steel for the first time.

If she was an ordinary smith, it’d take months, years, to build the siren a leg, let alone attach it. But she’s a _Rockbell, _and steel and starfire sparks in her veins. She doesn’t use her magic as the Pirate Queen—it’s too telling, too obvious, a big, flashing sign declaring her the lost princess of the Wastes—but here, in the forge…

She’s alone.

And she’s _safe._

She strips off her gloves. The fires of the forge will never harm her, molten steel more friend than enemy to her bare skin. Metal clatters in her presence as she shrugs on a smock and an apron, twisting and turning as she pulls forth steel, sings silver under her spell as sweetly as any siren, charms testy, trusted iron into her hands. She could melt it, dissolve it, form what she needs in mere moments…but she wants to craft them. To feel them becoming something new. Something good.

She wants to _create. _The Pirate Queen, the deadliest killer on the high seas, wants to give life instead of taking it. _Isn’t that the greatest irony of all?_

Winry closes her eyes, feels glorious metal singing through her veins, and begins her work.

She doesn’t notice a pair of golden eyes gazing at her from the doorway, fire reflected in his aureate stare. She doesn’t notice the awe, the fear, the wonder and want starting to fill those eyes. She doesn’t notice as he hobbles his way in and sits on a tiny bench, watching the woman he knows as a killer create something from ore and fire.

She doesn’t notice as he watches, and wonders, and looks at Winry Rockbell like he’s never seen her before. Like he’s never seen her at all.

Like he can’t bring himself to look away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter (and the little bit of Ed getting Feelings ;P)! Leave a comment or a kudos if you liked it, and I'll see you soon! Thanks for reading <3


	6. Can't Sleep Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed muses over his new predicament and the humans he's made a bargain with, when Winry drops in looking a little worse for wear. Call him stupid, but he can't just leave her to bleed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ed's POV! Woo! Plus, Winry finally explains her story ;) 
> 
> Title from the song by Pentatonix

Ed doesn’t understand these humans at _all_.

He _should_, of course. Humans are all the same—greedy, selfish creatures, only good for food and riches to stock their undersea hoards. They take innocent sirens and slaughter them for having to _eat_, or enslave them with iron collars, or sell them off to brothels for unspeakable things. They’re kept in menageries and let out to be hunted by strange dogs and those sharp loud-sticks that he knows now are called _guns_. Humans can’t be trusted, and they _certainly_ shouldn’t be thought of fondly under any circumstances. They’re the enemy.

But it wasn’t a human that hurt Al, or tore up his fins, or killed their mother. It wasn’t a human that cursed him, or made him try to bring their mom back. Krakens, sirens, sea witches—the beings of the world he trusts (trusted?)—are the ones that hurt him. Or, well, hurt him _more_. He hasn’t forgiven the pretty—_gorgeous confident absolutely TERRIFYING_—Pirate Queen for shooting a harpoon through his tail, or cutting his throat, or sticking him in a cage, but…

Loathe though he is to admit it, this isn’t their fault.

Not only that, but the humans—_these_ humans, these pirates, who have hunted and killed his people, who are destroyers and murderers and _monsters_—don’t act at all like, well, destroyers and murderers and monsters. They’re almost friendly, very skilled, and very, very _loud_. They bicker and joke and share drinks and memories and laugh at each other, patch each other up without a hint of the cutthroat Machiavellian ways he thought all humans lived by. They’re a pod, a family, even without blood binding them together, and it’s _confusing—_and none of them more confusing than their captain.

_The Pirate Queen. _She’s a legend even below the surface, tales of her misdeeds reaching from the iciest northern sea to the deepest of trenches. In seven winters, she’s become the bogeyman for every minnow across the Great Oceans. Nine Hells, even adults are scared of her. She was described as ruthless, and terrifying, painted in the blood of humans and sirens alike, a human with strange powers and no concept of mercy, whose laugh was as sweet as sirensong and her eyes as hard and cutting as diamond. _Beautiful and deadly like the blades she wields_, they would say, the rumors spreading across the seas. _If you see her, you’re dead. She spares no siren, no human—no one who would try to take from her._

Except—except she spared _him. _And her laugh is beautiful, but it’s not like sirensong at all, more like the crackling dance of a flame in a globe-light or a clap of thunder raging through a maelstrom. She’s killed, sure, but she hasn’t killed _him. _She has humans she loves, people she’s trying to save (like he’s trying to save Al, he thinks, and for once doesn’t balk at the thought of being _like_ her), and her powers aren’t strange. They’re magic. Metal-magic that forges beautiful blades, and—and a _leg. _

She gave him a leg and taught him to walk. To survive on land _and _in the sea. He’s always been slower than others because of his shredded fin, but she gave it all back to him like it was nothing. For her plan, sure, but there were other ways, easier ways, spells that could give him something temporary for the sake of their gala-crashing event. But instead, it’s permanent, and she shows no sign of asking for it back.

Doesn’t mean she’s good, he reminds himself fiercely. Doesn’t mean he cares about her beyond keeping his ticket to a princess’s heart alive. But she’s…different. Offers him out after out, reminds him that death waits at the end of this no matter what, as if she can’t stand the thought of lying about _this._

He’s…curious. He can almost hear Al, ever the romantic, urging him to try and get closer, to do _something—_

But Al is slowly losing his mind in a magical cage, alone and voiceless, and Ed shakes off the thought as quickly as he can. This is strictly business. Just so he can save his little brother. Nothing more.

Nothing more.

A knock on the window—that’s what it’s called, right? A window?—startles him out of his thoughts, and he furrows his brow warily. Quietly, he hums a slow, wary note, magic simmering in the air around him as he scoots off the little bed (another weird thing about humans: their furniture, and also the fact that they have two legs, but mostly the furniture) and creeps toward the curtains. The knock comes again, before a hand fiddles with the latch and Ed yelps, recoiling as—

_Winry _slips in. A very bruised, bloody Winry, her blue eyes crackling with energy as she stares at him in bewilderment. “Oh,” she says eloquently after a moment, and her voice is slurred, as though she’s been drinking. He wrinkles his nose; now that he’s looking for it, he can smell it on her. “Shit.”

“What the hell do you want, Majesty?”

She snorts, drawing herself up indignantly—and listing to the side almost immediately. He almost chalks it up to the alcohol but she’s clearly favoring one foot. _She’s been hurt, _he thinks dumbly, then nearly scoffs at himself. Of course she has. She’s covered in bruises and cuts and wearing a manic grin that can only mean _violence. _Typical human. “Nothin’ from _you, _fishbait. Thought…thought your window was mine, s’all.” Okay, so she’s more articulate than he thought, which is good, right? It means she’s not blackout drunk.

Then she sways unsteadily again, before sitting down with a curse, her hand going to her side. Ed’s up on his feet before he can think about it (and isn’t that something, that he can _walk _in this form—he didn’t even know human forms were a more than an urban legend until a week ago, and now he’s in one and he can _walk), _hurrying to her side as the scent of blood fills the air. His stomach growls instinctively, and he grits his teeth as her blue eyes snap to him, hazy with exhaustion and pain before narrowing. “I’m not gonna eat you, you idiot, stay—you’re_ bleeding!” _

She blinks, puzzled. “I am?”

Ed kind of wants to smack her upside the head, because _that is a stab wound _and what the hell is she doing going around getting herself stabbed when they’re supposed to have one of those stupid dance things tomorrow, so he can learn how to act like a stupid human noble. “Yes, you dumbass,” he snaps, prying her hand off the wound and showing the blood to her. “How the hell did this happen, huh? How did _any _of this happen?”

She blinks again. “Mmm…went for a drink…oh.” A faint scowl sets in. “Someone…put a drug in m’drink. Tried.” She makes a face, nose scrunching up adorably, and Ed feels blood rush to his cheeks. _Stop thinking she’s cute! _“Fought ‘im. Buddies musta pulled…pulled outta…”

“So you started a brawl.”

“_They _star…started it. Jus’ _finished _it.” She lifts her chin proudly, as though she’s not bloody and hurt and clearly still under the effects of this drug. As though she’s still a _queen. _“B’sides, made funna…funna my parents. Couldn’ let ‘em walk…after that.”

Fuck. Fucking shit. There’s a first-aid kit in every room, that’s what the tavern keeper had _said, _anyway, and Ed goes digging for it in the weird trunk at the base of the bed. _Okay. Gotta keep her conscious, and that means…talking. _“Your parents?”

“Mm-hm.” He feels Winry’s gaze fall on his back as he extricates it and holds it up triumphantly. “Said the Wastes…th’ Resembool Wastes were their fault.” There’s a scoff as Ed approaches, the Pirate Queen rolling her eyes. “As _if. _S’all _my _fault.”

Ed’s hands still through the task of unwinding strange human bandages as the words settle in. The Resembool Wastes are as famous as the Pirate Queen herself, a warning tale of the Sea Witch’s power. An entire kingdom vanished in a single night, destroyed by a single song. There’s a rumor of a princess who survived, a cursed one, but it’s mostly disregarded.

Seven years ago. Months before the Pirate Queen appeared, before she was ever known by that name. “I heard the Witch did it, so unless you can cast curses like that…”

Winry curls her lip, before swearing as he dabs some of the antiseptic onto the cuts on her knuckles, trying not to look at the stab wound. He doesn’t know how to heal something like that without magic, but if he starts singing, she might think he’s trying to hurt her…and, well, he’s not. “Only cast it ‘cause I _let her in,” _she spits. “Bad day—_s-shit—_didn’ wanna…wanna be a princess. Got in a ff…_fight _with m’da. She promised—wouldn’t hafta be a princess anymore. Took the bait.” She laughs bitterly, but he sees tears in her eyes and balks. “Now s’all gone f’rever, an’…an’ they’re gonna…gonna stay dead unless I put m’stupid crown in siren blood.”

Ed swallows. _She’s…she’s the Princess of the Wastes. _A princess, right in front of him this whole time—_was she planning on letting me take _her _heart when this was over? _“That’s why you let me live. So you could kill me later.”

She nods miserably, tears slipping down her face. “M’sorry,” she rasps. “Didn’t…didn’ wanna. Didn’ wanna be…this.”

“…But the Sea Witch cursed you.” Ed winds the bandages more firmly around her knuckles, applying some of the salve to her face. She stares at him with round, startled blue eyes, seeming alarmingly innocent, and he manages a wry smile. “And you can’t cheat the Witch.”

He was planning to use her too, after all. When it comes to the Sea Witch, nothing is sacred—not the thing you hold dearest, not innocent lives. He hunts to survive, and she…she hunted sirens to save her entire kingdom.

It almost makes his own curse, his own price, feel selfish.

Quietly, Ed draws magic into his voice, and rests a hand over hers. His voice pours forth from his lips, power swirling deep within the sound as it pours sweet and rich as honey, bright and warm as molten gold. He closes his eyes, letting it wind through the air and granting it purpose as he keeps singing, the magic winding into her blood and sealing the wound in her side.

When he opens his eyes and stops singing, Winry’s gazing at him with soft, sweet blue eyes. Her bandaged fingers gently squeeze his. “Gonna find another way,” she murmurs. “Promise.”

Ed’s breath catches in his throat despite himself, and he knows his face is pink. “Keep talking like that,” he breathes, “and I might just believe you.”

Her lips quirk up into a strange, playful little smile as her eyes close, her breathing evening, and Ed waits until he knows she’s asleep to let out a shuddering breath and stare at their joined hands—

And realizes that he doesn’t want to let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update! Leave a comment or a kudos if you liked it, and I'll see you next time <3


	7. Teir Abhaile Riu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed has to learn to dance before they can fool the nobility into thinking he's human--before they can steal away the crown. Unfortunately, dancing with your enemy-turned-grudging-partner-turned...who knows at this point only stokes certain feelings higher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S BEEN A HOT MINUTE, BUT I'M BACK WITH A SPICY CHAPTER FOR Y'ALL! I hope you enjoy it!!!
> 
> Also, I've made a spotify playlist for this fic/au! You can check it out here: [The Pirate Queen](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1wko5TWEzfiqDl83tELPA3?si=C9-gwDo8ROuAZHizCe3UIA)

Madame Christmas’s (so strange, that name, not quite human but not any recognizable kind of _other, _not one that Ed knows) bar is just starting to get its rush of customers for the evening, but now there are human musicians standing on a strange little dais. Ed watches them warily as they tune well-worn instruments (well-loved, he supposes, and rather hates that he’s forced to acknowledge that humans _love, _deeply and fiercely as sirens do), perched on the edge of a round wooden table of polished oak. At least, he thinks it’s oak. He’s not well-versed in land materials, but the wood is similar to that of a few ships he’s seen, if less weathered.

He wonders, absently, if he’ll ever get a chance to see oak for real—towering trees and lush undergrowth and wild things that roam the land instead of the sea—before burying the thought. Best case scenario, he and Winry both manage to break their curses without dying, and he goes back to roaming the sea with his brother and never sees her again. Worst case…he dies, and he won’t ever see anything again. Which is a bit of a depressing thought, but Ed’s a realist, and death is a very real possibility. He doesn’t trust the Pirate Queen at all in this. He doesn’t. He _doesn’t. _What’s between them is—is a bond born of necessity and nothing more, that’s all. They’re allies. Not friends. Not anything—_more._

It’s telling, he thinks dully, watching her crew gather around tables, chatting quietly with each other and pouring pints of some sweet ale out of a green-glass bottle, that his first reaction to the idea of _more _isn’t disgust. That a few short weeks ago, his first thought at the sight of her was how wonderful it would feel to rip out her throat, to feel her life pulsing out beneath his claws—and now he can’t stop thinking about her hand in his, the soft look she’d given him when he sang her wounds closed. He can’t bring himself to daydream over crushing her still-beating heart between his fins anymore, his thoughts turning to handing his own heart to her, fighting beside her (and what a thrill that thought is, of fighting next to her instead of on opposite sides).

It’s embarrassing, and distracting, and decidedly not going to happen, anyways. Sirens and humans don’t _mix, _not like this. Sirens hunt humans, and humans fear sirens, and that’s just how it is—

Except Winry disregards that entirely, as she seems to do all levels of the status quo. She doesn’t fear his kind at all, to the point where sirens fear _her. _She’s a legend, the monster waiting in the night, more fearsome than any kraken or sea-dragon to them. A mere human (a _princess_ at that, one of those dainty little things they laugh about in the seven kingdoms, laugh about how those humans don’t train their heirs into soldiers, how their precious little younglings are weak compared to the minnows of the seven nations beneath the waves) has become a nightmare to all sirens, young and old, in a mere seven years. A mortal is the bogeyman of a near-immortal race of mortal-devouring monsters, and she has earned it through steel and storm and flame.

There’s still fear when he looks at her sometimes, but no more hatred. Instead there’s a raw kind of understanding, and it twists deep in his chest.

Both of them, cursed by something they cannot control. Both of them, turned into monsters to save the people they love best. Both of them dancing with death, running out a clock that’s ticking closer and closer to its end. Reflections of each other, breaking and broken in a million different ways. He can’t stand to look, and yet he can’t turn away, and—

And he cannot hate her, even if he hates himself, because he knows exactly why she made those kills. Exactly why she is feared. She is death, she is a wild storm raging on the sea, and she has nothing left to lose except for the handful of people and that beautiful ship, and a kingdom and a family to gain. He would have slaughtered a thousand of his own kind if it meant freeing Al from his curse. Of course she became a monster for her people. Of course she did.

Of course she did.

But they both have a chance to end this—to get her crown, to find the heart of a princess. He won’t take her heart, not now, not unless there’s no other chance, and she’s given her word that she’ll look for another way, another life to take. To even get to that decision, though…to get to that point, they have to steal the crown first, and that means Ed has to learn to dance. At a masquerade ball. Surrounded by _humans—_more humans than he’s ever faced in his life. He’s got walking down, but one step out of place and they’ll know he doesn’t belong, and that means that’s it for all of them. He doesn’t know what kind of dancing you’re supposed to do with legs, though. You can’t twine and snap them like tails, or twist and swing them like fins—and what sort of music are they supposed to have without sirensong?

_Nothing good, that’s for sure, _he thinks smugly, leaning back in his chair and crossing that strange metal leg over his flesh one as a bout of raucous laughter surges up from the crowd. Winry, despite supposedly teaching him to dance today, is nowhere to be found, and he sticks to the shadows even though he knows the tavern owner won’t let any harm come to him. It’s not worth the risk of someone deciding Chris Mustang’s wrath is well-worth the gold they’ll get for siren scales and siren blood.

A hand slaps at a table and he jolts as one of the travelers shouts something in a strange language that Winry’s crewmate (the one with the bad luck in love, judging from his stories) calls right back. Another person echoes it, and another, and another, and another, until the whole bar is chanting and—

_Oh_, he realizes as the lass holding a stringed instrument (a fiddle, he remembers; the Queen keeps one on her ship) raises the bow and the crowd erupts into cheers and whistles. _It was the name of the song—they’re playing a song. _Well, if Winry’s ditched him, he’ll be perfectly happy to sit here and judge their silly human music.

Bow is set to string, a honeyed, high-pitched voice echoing from the instrument as people pick up the rhythm from the drums in the table, feet tapping and hands matching every fall of the drumstick beat for beat. The sweet song of a flute joins in, before the woman carrying no instrument opens her mouth and sings—sings about a human girl chasing after sailors while her sisters urge her to stay and seek love at home, to do her work and trust in the love of her family. Sings what must be some sort of folk song, some old tale, because everyone seems to know it and join in and people are getting to their feet and grabbing partners, and—

Ed's never heard music like this before—he's heard drums and lyres, he's heard conchs and flutes, he's heard the infinite power of sirensong, has lent his voice to music a thousand times for joy and for grief and for rage and for war. But he's never heard them like this--never heard them pounding through the floor of a human bar or the raucous voices of sailors and pirates joining in with the voice of the young woman on the little raised platform. Never heard the sweet tongue of a fiddle or the syrupy singing of a lute.

And the _dancing_—

He's sure it's nothing like what they'll be doing at Lady Solaris's masquerade, but he can't help being entranced. Instead of snapping tails and swirling fins, feet stomp and spin and kick and hands clap and twine and lift as people find the beat and follow it, laughing and cheering—and in the middle of it all is the Queen herself, in a loose white blouse laced a bit too low to keep him from blushing and a silvery-blue waistcoat, her usual coat of siren-blood-blue forgotten as she leaps and whirls and dives, a force of nature here as she is in all other things. She spins under the arm of a stranger, the ends of the sash tied around her waist spinning with her as she meets them step for step, before spinning to the next (and Ed decidedly does not watch her legs in those sleek pants, doesn’t nearly choke when she’s dipped gracefully and she throws her head back with a laugh that cuts through the music like sirensong all on its own).

It isn’t the music of the sea, eerie and strange, but it’s wild all the same, untamed—the song and dance of a people who don’t belong anywhere, wanderers and strangers except for these few moments when they all come together. It’s intoxicating, and he finds his foot tapping along, finds the urge to sing bursting in his chest, to join his voice with theirs. To be a part of this strange ritual, if only for a few moments, to—to dance among them, like he’s a human. Like he’s _one of them. _

Some part of him aches with want at the thought—not of being human, he loves what he is, loves the sea too much to ever leave it behind. But to belong among them like they belong to each other. Like Winry does.

_“Crimson!”_

Hands wrap around his and he nearly shrieks, nearly lets his claws punch out of his fingers and into whoever dares accost him, before his eyes go wide at the sight of glittering blue and a feral smile. “Welcome to your first dancing lesson, gorgeous.”

_My WHAT._

“You can’t—you’re not serious,” he blurts out, and her grin only widens. _Oh my gods. Oh, holy fucking gods, she is. _“Majesty, I only got the hang of _walking _a couple days ago, you can’t expect me to—to do _that, _I don’t even know the damn steps—are you insane? You’re actually insane, aren’t you! I _knew _I shouldn’t have—”

Her finger settles over his lips, and his mouth snaps shut in pure shock, eyes going round as she leans in with a laugh. “First rule of knowing how to dance is actually feeling the music, little siren. If you can’t do that, all the waltzing lessons in the world won’t save you when you get out on the floor. If you can run and spin in a circle, you’re good—that’s all you need right now. I’ll do the rest.”

_I’ll do the rest. _Sea-spirits and stars damn him for where his mind goes after those words, but then she’s pulling him to his feet and he can’t fight anymore. The song ends, but another one kicks up moments later. The singer sits down at a worn-out piano kept in the back, and the dancers and diners whoop and howl and laugh. More people are dragged to the floor by partners and friends, and Ed tries not to scream a little as Winry takes his hands and brings him into the dance with a bright laugh. His eyes find the floor, and he does his best to mimic her steps, the grace and energy within them. He’s sure he looks like a disaster, but he peeks up and her eyes are shining like stars as she beams at him.

Then—

He’s spinning, suddenly, then diving, and her hands are on his hips and he’s being lifted in the air and his heart _leaps _with him, soars like he’s flying—because he is, just for a moment, he’s flying in her arms and he stretches his arms out and laughs. For a second, there’s no curse, there’s no countdown, there’s no divide between them, no code of pirates or law of sirens. For a second, it’s just Ed and Winry and Winry and Ed, and he revels in it as he’s set down and she leaps on top of a table. He takes her hand and springs nimbly up off a vacant seat and back into her arms, the music sweeping him away. Every drumbeat marks a footstep, every note of the flute a hand on his hip or his shoulder or his cheek or his wrist, each touch light as a kiss and striking as a blade to the heart. His back is pressed against her torso, then he whips around to face her and she spins him around again, and when she dips him he lets himself dip low, low, low.

When he rises back up, it’s like flying again, and his hands find hers and they spin around and around and around, not a step out of place, like they were always meant to be this, to be one soul in two bodies, and when the music stops—

When the music stops, he’s bent back with one foot off the ground, her hand curved around his waist and his arms looped around her shoulders. Someone whistles, but Ed doesn’t care. Can’t care, can’t breathe, can’t think as fathomless eyes like the sea just after sunset gaze into his, practically glowing with light and with—joy.

For the first time since he’s met her, she looks…_happy._

“Not bad for your first time, Crimson,” she breathes, and he feels heat rush to his face, knows he must be turning siren-blood-blue.

Still, it doesn’t stop him from leaning up—close, so close, not close enough—and whispering, “Not so bad yourself, _Your Majesty.”_

_Do it. Pull me off to some dark little corner, kiss me until I can’t breathe. I know what you want—I want it too. Please—_

She pulls back, just a fraction, sets him gently on his feet, leans down and—and kisses his hand. Like he’s some dainty little princess and not the apex predator of the sea. He doesn’t want to think about why it makes his heart race, that tiny little kiss, so delicate and chaste.

Winry winks at him and melts into the crowd.

Ed, who knows how dangerous wanting is, whose greed and pride caused his brother so much pain, stands there and stares after her.

And he wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I hope you enjoyed that chapter! Coming back to this au was SO. MUCH. FUN. Shoutout to the edwin stans Rilie and Marge, who saw me go "hm i miss this au" and basically injected me with motivation and serotonin until I finished this! Thank you all for reading, leave a comment and/or a kudos if you enjoyed it, and I'll see you next time! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, you made it to the end! What do you think? Intrigued? Excited? Full of loathing for every word I launch haphazardly at the page? Me too, buddy, me too. But hey, let me know what you think in the comments, and leave a kudos if you liked it! And please, do read "To Kill A Kingdom" by Alexandra Cristo; while this isn't strictly an AU of that book, it did give me a lot of inspiration! Thanks for reading.


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